


no remedy for memory

by tombenough_and_continent



Category: Inception (2010), 琅琊榜 | Nirvana in Fire (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-12
Updated: 2016-09-12
Packaged: 2018-08-14 14:48:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8018203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tombenough_and_continent/pseuds/tombenough_and_continent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Xiao Jingyan is the extractor, Lie Zhanying the point man, Lin Chen the forger, Mei Changsu the architect, Lin Shu the shade, and the job is on the Emperor of Liang himself.</p><p>Drabbles written in an Inception AU. Because no fandom can go without an Inception AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Friend mentioned in a previous post and I spent the summer throwing increasingly tragic AU's of Nirvana in Fire at each other, occasionally interspersed with utter hilarity (please take a moment to imagine Nirvana in Fire told through a series of clickbait articles. You're welcome). Inception!AU was actually fleshed out quite a bit, but what you need to know for these drabbles is that all of their dreams are inexplicably set in 古装片的风格/period drama-style. Don't think about it too much. Just imagine the pretty aesthetics in your head and leave it there.
> 
> Logistics note: English being my primary language, I write mostly in English, but there are some things in Chinese that I can't stand rendering in English. I'll add a brief glossary at the end of the work, so hopefully that'll do the trick. (hint: cntrl-f, copy-paste the Chinese into the search box, and find the translation in the end notes)
> 
> Trigger warning note: this being an Inception!AU (i.e. the movie that had people shoot each other in the head or get run over by trains to wake up from dreams), there will be violence. I'd say canon-typical is a safe approximation

The second time the three of them dream together, 蔺晨 meets 林殊.

That morning, side-by-side with a simply-dressed 列战英 making coffee in the kitchen of 萧景琰’s spartan penthouse suite, 蔺晨 had suggested letting 景琰 design the dreamworld, slipping it into their conversation with his usual flippancy, only to have the proposal summarily quashed by 战英 with an apologetic smile.

“Trust me,” 战英 had said with a small laugh. “You think my dreams are boring? His are even worse.”

蔺晨 hadn’t quite believed it – he was a forger, he specialized in lies – but he held his tongue; anyways, if he took on the job they were offering him, there would be plenty of time for him to study 萧景琰’s subconsciousness later. He _was_ curious to see what the inside of a prince’s head looked like, though, and had said as much. “As rich and luxurious as the royal palace? Or does he have, against all odds, a semblance of taste?”

If 列战英 had been the type of underling to get puffed up at every slight insult to his liege-lord, 蔺晨 would have refused the job on the spot – he couldn’t work with someone who couldn’t take at least a little good-natured ribbing. Or more than a little. But instead, 战英 just smiled and handed him a mug. “Cream and sugar are in the cupboard left of the fridge. I’ll see you in an hour.”

战英 had given him a slight bow before striding out of the kitchen – of _course_ he drank his coffee black, 蔺晨 was willing to bet that the word “luxury” simply didn’t exist in his or 景琰’s vocabulary. Now, as he pokes around in the backroom of a Tang Dynasty-style teahouse in 战英’s dreamscape, he resolves to educate these heathens on the finer points of tea as well. Who _doesn’t_ know that tea isn’t to be stored in ceramic containers?

None of the projections pay attention to him as he strolls out the back door of the kitchen, wearing the body of 小新, his multipurpose servant girl forgery who helps him duck into whatever locales his regular 少阁主 persona can’t get into. 蔺晨 steps out onto the busy street – cobblestones, street hawkers, passing carriages, all the hallmarks of a vague ancient China washed in brilliant sunlight – and squints in annoyance; he may present the front of arrogant socialite, but he’s always preferred high mountains and misty forests, aloof and green and meditative. But this was the dream world that 列战英 constructed, and this was the dream world in which he was tasked with finding and deceiving a certain 萧景琰.

A few steps later, 蔺晨 ducks into a side alley, weaving between abandoned carts and stacks of crates. Glancing around to make sure no one can see him, he focuses on shifting his features, solidifying his clothes from flowing chiffon into solid and sensible daywear, straightening his posture and tilting his chin up. 蔺晨 takes a moment to settle into this new forgery, one he’s been assembling piece by piece in his head for the past thirty-six hours. Shoulders back, arms akimbo, confidence blended with self-effacement.

列战英 emerges from the side alley, sword swinging at his side and cape billowing behind him, discreetly joining the flow of pedestrians down the street. In a bustling city like this, there’s no use kicking up a fuss trying to find one person and prematurely alerting the projections. 蔺晨 might as well see the sights first.

\--

蔺晨 is browsing through the selection in an apothecary when a shadow blocks the light from the store’s doorway. He looks up to see the projection of a young man standing on the threshold – white-robed, hair done up in a neat bun, bangs brushing against lively eyebrows that dance in amusement. 蔺晨 frowns – he doesn’t forget a face, and he’s sure he’s seen this one before, but he can’t quite recall where at this moment. A regular projection would go about his business; this one, however, is staring intently at him.

“Can I help you?” He straightens up, resuming a military stance; he is, after all, still wearing 战英’s face.

The young man crosses the space between them with a few purposeful, confident steps, still with that mischievous and charming smile on his face, and 蔺晨 allows a small quirk to emerge on the side of his mouth – he recognizes a challenge one he sees one, and he knows how to play this game. But the projection doesn’t stop, comes right up to 蔺晨 and stands on tip-toe to whisper into his ear. “You can get out of my 萧景琰’s head, you trespasser.”

蔺晨 recoils, but before he can respond, there’s a commotion outside. Just as the real 列战英 and 萧景琰 burst into the room, 战英 shouting a warning, a knife punches through 蔺晨's armor and slides right between his ribs, the dreamworld exploding in a wash of red.

 --

蔺晨 surges upright, ripping the PASIV needle from his arm and nearly falling out of his chair in the process. In the time it takes for him right himself and steady his breathing, 列战英 also surfaces from the dream and sits up, methodically sliding the needle from his forearm with scrupulous care.

“What the _fuck_ ,” 蔺晨, when he’s sure he has his breathing under control, snaps curtly, “was that?”

It’s not the first time he’s been killed in a dream; it’s not even the most painful time that he’s been killed in a dream. But he hasn’t had his forgery pierced so easily in a very long time, much less by a solitary projection. Who had that young man been? How did he uncover 蔺晨 so easily? And was 景琰’s subconsciousness militarized in a way that he hadn’t seen before?

When 战英 doesn’t immediately respond, 蔺晨 glances over at 萧景琰 – his eyes are open, but he just lies there, face as stony as ever, conflict warring in his eyes and a muscle jumping in his clenched jaw.

“殿下,” 战英 says, as if prompting him. There’s something questioning in 战英’s tone, something demanding about the simple honorific. 蔺晨 looks between the two of them and gets the distinct sense that this is something that the two of them have discussed and disagreed about.

萧景琰 closes his eyes again and doesn’t respond. When he finally opens them again, he stands up – his movements are slow, a little unsteady, 蔺晨 notices, as if disguising some old pain running through his bones. 萧景琰 bows to 蔺晨, a formal, forty-five degree inclination of the torso that looks thoroughly strange on the prince known for 宁折不弯. “I apologize for what happened today; that was on me. 战英，” he turns to his subordinate, “please.”

“殿下,” 战英 calls after him, but 萧景琰 has already exited the room with swift steps, and 战英 heaves a frustrated sigh.

Meanwhile, 蔺晨’s mind is churning – he’s seen that face before, where has he seen that face before, and what could possibly upset the coldly composed 萧景琰 enough for him to leave the room noticeably unsettl – oh.

“列战英,” he says, “did you not think it was important to tell me that 萧景琰 is being haunted by his best friend’s shade?”

\--

蔺晨 takes the job.

He refreshes himself on the art of 武术 and 轻功 in the dreamworld; it’s been a while since he’s taken on a job of this magnitude, and given the stakes on this one, he’d rather not leave any area uncovered. It’s also a protective measure, just in case 林殊 finds him before 列战英 or 萧景琰 can get to him.

“林殊 is unpredictable,” 战英 says as they take a break, swigging huge gulps of water from leather flasks in the shade of 靖王府. “Sometimes he can be reasoned with; sometimes he even helps.”

“Is there any way we can be sure of what he’ll do?” 蔺晨 asks, wiping his mouth and setting his flask down.

列战英 shrugs. “Not really; he responds better to 靖王殿下 but even that’s not a given. He seems to get friendlier the more familiar you become with 殿下’s subconscious. I’ve had a few perfectly reasonable conversations with him.”

“And how many times did he kill you before that happened?” 蔺晨 can’t help the acerbic edge that creeps into his voice.

列战英 just gives him a look, unsmiling. “Both 靖王殿下 and I were in the army before we got into extraction. We’re not afraid of pain.” He sets his flask down and picks up his sword. “Again?”

蔺晨 wonders, at least three times a day and double that if all the three of them are running drills in 战英’s dreamscape, what in the name of sanity possessed him to say ‘yes’ to working with an unfavored prince haunted by the shade of one of the most brilliant forgers ever to emerge in the industry, and his loyal subordinate, a man who had to be equally crazy as 萧景琰 to dreamshare with the understanding that he could be suddenly, painfully, and violently killed by a smiling 林殊 at any moment.

So at least three times a day, 蔺晨 reminds himself to bide his time, to wait for the right moment, because 长苏 was as good at manipulating people inside the dream as out, but he nearly sags in relief when 景琰 stops him in the hallway and says a curt, “We need an architect.”

“Thank God,” 蔺晨 says smoothly, tucking his hands into his sleeves. “I thought you’d never ask.”

\--

“Oh, _whoa_.”

蔺晨 allows himself a satisfied smirk as they duck out from behind a waterfall to emerge beside a large pool, the water clear and alluring, mist wreathing through the trees, a riot of smells assaulting them – the fresh air of the waterside, the earthy fragrance of forest loam, the smell of a mountain after rain. 长苏 had chosen the pine forest below 琅琊阁 in the middle of summer; an ambitious choice for its sheer amount of detail, but subtle.

Undisguised awe surfaces on 列战英’s face as he runs a hand across the moss-covered cliffside, marveling at the texture. 萧景琰 picks his way carefully through the fallen rocks at the edge of the pool, and 梅长苏 is already far ahead, his slate-grey robes nearly vanishing amongst the trees.

“Hey, 长苏！” 蔺晨 yells after him. “What happened to the birds? I remember you’d crafted very large, beautiful birds, with rainbow feathers and a certain taste for 文雅书生—”

“Fuck off, 蔺晨.” 长苏’s voice comes drifting back on the breeze. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten about your special connection with monkeys.”

蔺晨 scoffs very loudly, very indignantly, and 列战英 glances between the two of them, amusement surfacing on his face. “小没良心,” 蔺晨 says for 列战英’s benefit. “I find him a job and this is how he repays me.”

\--

That 萧景琰 strongly dislikes 梅长苏, that much is obvious. Why, though, 蔺晨 hasn’t been able to place yet. But even the prince cannot deny that 长苏’s dreamworlds are intricately and flawlessly crafted, vivid and sensuous and thrumming with some kind of unexplainable energy that seems to sing through the very dreamscape, so an additional room is set up for 梅长苏 in 萧景琰’s vast and empty penthouse suite, and another tube hooked up to the PASIV that sits on a coffee table in the high-ceilinged living room. With 梅长苏’s arrival, their work gains momentum; 蔺晨 spends most of his time working with 萧景琰, digging through the prince’s knowledge of the imperial court and who might be the best to forge, while 战英 and 长苏 spend hours poring over the blueprints that 梅长苏 stays up all night sketching. They’re so engrossed in their separate jobs that they don’t dreamshare again for another week.

This time, 长苏 takes them on a tour of the ancient capital, pointing out the manors of ancient lords and occasionally reciting lines of poetry written by long-dead officials, and 蔺晨 is so incredibly entertained by the obvious incomprehension on 列战英’s face and the boredom warring with reluctant admiration on 萧景琰’s that he forgets to ask whose subconscious they’re brushing shoulders with until 列战英 stiffens and starts pushing through the crowd while 萧景琰 just stops dead in the middle of the street, narrowly missing a mule cart whose driver curses at him while swerving. 长苏 doesn’t even notice, just continues to recount how political intrigue had exploded an entire 黑火 factory in this district several hundred years ago and its effects on reconstruction and architecture, and 蔺晨 almost misses the white-robed figure that melts out of the swarm of passerbys right behind 长苏.

列战英 is still five paces away, too far to help, when 蔺晨 shouts 长苏’s name. 长苏 pauses mid-sentence, quirking an eyebrow at him, before turning to see what they’re all staring at and—

列战英 has his sword half-pulled out of his scabbard; one of 蔺晨’s tranquilizer darts has found its way into his hand, ready to hurl at any moment. But the shade of 林殊 just stares at 梅长苏, two eternal smiles freezing in place as they examine each other.

长苏 looks away first, glancing over his shoulder to throw a questioning look at 萧景琰, and both 战英 and 蔺晨 react instinctively – _no_ _长苏_ _why would you ever do that why would you look away –_

蔺晨’s dart hits 林殊 in the throat just as 战英’s sword runs through his torso, but neither of them move faster than 林殊, who rams his dagger into 梅长苏’s chest with the speed of a striking snake, and 长苏, the fool, just looks down at the hilt of the dagger and then crumples, silent in the chaos of the street and—

The dream doesn’t so much collapse as just shatter like glass from a gunshot.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't plan on writing more in this series, so this drabble captures pretty much the scope of everything I was aiming for in this AU.

When 萧景琰 awakens, he feels the sand rubbing in his face and knows that he is dreaming.

Saltwater laps at his calves, warm as blood, inviting as an embrace. His entire body aches, like he’d been battered about by the entire ocean before it finally spat him out on this beach. He’s more than a little tempted to drift off again, but he resists. Who knows if the next time he wakes up if he’d still remember that he was dreaming?

With a groan, he drags himself further up on the sand, away from the soothing wash of waves. Heavy imperial robes swaddle him uncomfortably, and long strands of hair stick to his face. Yes, definitely dreaming. Clumsy fingers fumble at the clasp of his belt and eventually, he manages to shrug off an outer layer. 景琰 sprawls on the beach, breathing heavily from the effort.

He is dreaming, he knows that. But whose dream? His own?

He shoots that idea down: he can count the number of times he’s been to a beach on one hand, much less one as expansive and desolate as the one he’s on now.

Someone else’s? Then that would necessitate intentionality, necessitate purpose. There would be a target (him?) and an extractor (who?). There would also be projections, but he sees nothing and no one for miles on end.

景琰 frowns as he spreads his robes out to dry. He’d been washed up on the shore, which would mean he’d fallen into the ocean at some point and lost consciousness. But lucid dreams rarely lasted long enough for him to be washed up somewhere entirely new; the dream would collapse first, or he’d be woken by a kick. Unless this was the beginning of a dream, which could mean that—

His totem rolls out of its hidden pocket in his robes and pauses between the grasp of two gold-embroidered dragons undulating over red fabric. The pearl's glistening surface shines up at him, opaque and impenetrable, and suddenly, 景琰 remembers everything.

Limbo. He’s in Limbo. And he’s here to find 梅长苏.

\--

Limbo, apparently, is one never-ending expanse of sand, salt, and sky, the gray ocean on one side and a desert-like expanse on the other. In the distance, 景琰 can see shapeless lumps of what looks like the decayed stumps of cement foundations—leftovers from previous dreamers, no doubt. He hikes his long robe over his shoulder and keeps struggling through the sand.

In Limbo, mere hours from the third dream level translated into decades. 景琰 wasn’t sure how long it had been in between 林殊’s shade running 梅长苏 through with a sword and his own entrance into Limbo, but it couldn’t be too long, could it? 蔺晨 had dropped the shade with a throwing knife from across the street, and while 景琰 scrambled to finish the job—to persuade his father and emperor to open the doors of the 天牢, to see the evidence that would plant doubt in his mind of 夏江’s reliability and prove 祁王兄’s unwavering loyalty, he could here 蔺晨 behind him, coaxing and cajoling 梅长苏 to stay awake, to stay alive, no no no listen to me 长苏 you’re fine, you just need to hold on until the kick, y’hear me 长苏? and 景琰 watches his father break into pieces before him and feels a hollow kind of relief: it’s done. It’s done.

But then he’d turned around, and then he’d seen 蔺晨 stiffen—were those _tears_ on his face?—and then he’d seen 梅长苏’s pale lips curve up in a faint smile, and then he’d seen his architect’s body go limp and relaxed in 蔺晨’s arms, and then—and then—?

He remembers fragments: the swift, practiced movements of assembling the PASIV and sliding the needle into his forearm, hooking 梅长苏 up to the machine as well. He must have said something to 蔺晨—我素来鲁莽，考虑不了那么多, he thinks—and then chasing 梅长苏 down into the dream, and then—？

He couldn’t be more than a few minutes later than 梅长苏, it couldn’t have been that long—

The sand beneath his feet gradually hardens, until a rough cobblestone path emerges. 景琰 furrows his brows, then remembers: unconstructed dream space. Right. He can make anything he wanted happen here.

The thought makes him dizzy—anything. He quickly shies away from it, then considers the practical applications. Perhaps he could bend the dreamspace to bring himself closer to 梅长苏—?

There, on the sand, up ahead—a dark shape. A huddled human figure, like him washed up on the shore, flowing cream robes encrusted with sand in a heap around him—景琰 breaks into a run.

He skids to a halt, grains of sand scattering everywhere, beside 梅长苏, who’s unmoving and unresponsive. That can’t be right; 梅长苏 had fallen into Limbo _before_ 景琰, and even as fast as 景琰 followed him, time dilation meant that he’d had to be lying here for hours, at least, and if he hadn’t woken up then—

景琰 gently turns him over and brushes wild, loose strands of hair out of his architect’s face, and nearly drops him in shock.

That face, slack and unworried in repose, is not that of his imperturbable architect, but of the shade that had killed him.

\--

Without realizing it, 景琰 had promptly reneged on his resolve to create as little as possible in Limbo in order to better hang onto the distinction between dream and reality, and has constructed an entire 府 without thinking—all right, so it was 靖王府 because he was in a near panic and the buildings and courtyard had sprung into existence unbidden, fully formed. He didn’t notice the details as he carried an unconscious 林殊 into a room—all right, so it was his old bedroom, he was in a bit of a rush, okay?—and set him on the bed before whirling around and sprinting to the kitchen—which was exactly where it had been, had always been—and retrieved a freshly-made and still-steaming bowl of medicinal broth and come back as fast as he could without spilling any, sitting the limp body of his best friend up against him and feeding the medicine to him as best as he could.

 Halfway through the bowl, 林殊 suddenly sputters and coughs, and 景琰 rushes to set the bowl down on a nearby table before rubbing his back hurriedly.

Up until now, 萧景琰 has not given any serious thought as to what it meant for him to find the shade of his childhood friend in a dreamworld that should only have him and 梅长苏 in it—he’d just seen the unconscious body of 小殊 and, with the overpowering sense that something was seriously wrong, just _acted_. But now, as 林殊 doubles over, coughing weakly, eyes fluttering open, 景琰 is seized by an inexplicable moment of dread.

            He helps 小殊 straighten up, and as their eyes meet, 小殊’s expressive face freezes. “靖王殿下,” 林殊 says, in a voice that’s not his own, in a cadence 景琰 is all too familiar with.

            No—he couldn’t be—? 景琰 would have recognized him? “小殊?” 景琰 asks, finally.

            The sudden panic that flares in 林殊’s eyes, and the way he looks down at himself, as if unfamiliar with his own body, tells 景琰 everything he needs to know.

\--

            梅长苏. Had been. 小殊. All this time.

                        And.

                                    景琰.

                                                Should have.

                                                                        Fucking.

                                                                                                _Known._

\--

            During one of their planning sessions in the dreamscape, 景琰 had walked in on 梅长苏 helping 蔺晨 refine his forgery of 祁王兄. “Shoulders back, a little more,” 梅长苏 was saying, tapping 蔺晨-祁王兄 between the shoulder blades with—was that 蔺晨’s fan? “Now, smile with your eyes but not with your mouth, you almost have the 天下 in your hands but you’re not concerned about that—there are more pressing issues at hand like famine control and new military regulations. _Stop_ thinking so much about the embroidery on your robes, it’s _fine_.”

            “Easy for you to say, 长苏,” 蔺晨 had retorted, the sulky tone thoroughly clashing with the image of the ever-dignified 萧景禹. “You’re not the one who has to forge imperial robes on top of impersonating a member of the royal family.”

            “Less of the pouting five-year-old, more of the authoritative 天子,” 梅长苏 rapped 蔺晨 on the head.

            “I’m sure the authoritative 天子 had his pouty five-year-old moments,” 蔺晨 said lightly. “Right, 靖王殿下？” he added, 萧景禹 raising a cocky eyebrow at him.

梅长苏 spun around and bowed hastily. “对不起，失礼了，殿下.”

“没事.” 景琰 folded his arms and leaned against the doorway. “I didn’t know 苏先生 knew so much about forgery as well.”

“Ah.” 梅长苏 laughs, a little embarrassed, forever self-effacing. “I’ve studied all the areas of extraction, in theory, at least. Unfortunately, I’m afraid I’m not up to the stress of forgery, unlike our 蔺公子, here.”

And 景琰 hadn’t thought more of it, because said 蔺公子 had fired back with a ready retort, and 景琰 was already distracted by the appearance of his 皇长兄, and of course the frail architect whose very form appeared slightly blurred at the edges in the dreamworld wasn’t capable of forgery, unless, unless—？

Unless he was constantly forging himself into a bland-faced, marble-featured tactician who never rose to any of 林殊’s provocations, never batted an eye at anything that came his way.

景琰 had been too distracted at the time to ask the question that he should have asked— _how do you know so much about my 皇长兄？_ \-- but looking at 林殊-梅长苏 standing alone in the courtyard of 靖王府 now, bundled in several layers of robes with his chin buried in a turtleneck while admiring the plum blossoms, now 景琰 doesn’t have to ask, just knows.

\--

He’s the first one to lose track of time, but he’s also the first to remember it.

At first, he thinks little of it — 小殊 obviously took the fall into Limbo much harder than he did, so it seemed only right to give him a few days to recover. 景琰 himself had also been reeling from the revelation, and hadn’t had much heart to think of much else.

And then they start talking: 景琰 asks gentle questions about the twelve years they’ve lost — what 小殊 has been doing in the meantime, the people he’s met, the sights he’s seen. And 小殊 tells him in even, measured tones, manipulating the dreamscape around them when words become inadequate.

This becomes their evening routine, as the sky darkens and flower petals drift to the ground, as candles flicker to life and a night breeze stirs.

In the morning, 景琰 sometimes wakes to find 梅长苏 gone — for long walks, 景琰 presumes, and doesn’t press — he recognizes the need to give 小殊 his space. Because he’s no longer the 小殊 that 景琰 remembers, no, not completely: his bearing is all 梅长苏 but his mannerisms are 林殊. He wears his hair down and loose, tied back with a simple ribbon that reminds 景琰 of the time he saw 梅长苏 as 江左梅郎 in another dreamworld, long ago. But his face remains 林殊: those same lively dark eyes, the proud features, the mischievous smile.

But does he? Sometimes, 景琰 could swear that his features shift: settling into the cool composure of 梅长苏, cheekbones hollowing out and the curve of his eyes drooping. But it’s growing harder and harder for 景琰 to tell the two of them apart.

景琰 remembers time when he wakes up one morning and realizes that there’s an entire city outside the 靖王府 he’d created by accident；he goes out and walks through the silent streets of 金陵, every inch the city that he and 小殊 created time and time again when they were young, from the scratches on the 门槛 of 大理寺 to the locations of their favorite 小吃摊儿, all abandoned and empty but completely pristine. A nameless feeling wells up in the base of his throat—after all these years, 小殊 still remembers everything.

He finds 梅长苏 standing in the courtyard of the 宅子 behind 靖王府，an abandoned manor, with his hands tucked into long sleeves and gazing pensively through crooked rafters, out of place from disuse.

“You know,” 小殊 remarks as 景琰 approaches, “I’ve often thought about moving into this manor. Remodel it slightly, adjust the garden, and—” he waves his hand, and the dream scape ripples, manifesting his vision. He finally turns to face 景琰. “What do you think?”

There is so much earnestness, so much genuineness in 小殊’s face that it breaks 景琰’s heart to remind him. “小殊,” he says, as gently as possible. We’re in Limbo. This is all a dream.”

小殊 sighs before turning away. “I know.” He gestures with his hand, and the 园子 returns to its regular half-wild state. “I just thought…”

“Thought what?”

“That we could make up for the years we’ve lost, here.” 小殊 laughs, and it’s so self-deprecating that 景琰 wants to reach out and make him turn around to face him. “Just like when we were young, young gods, untouchable. Together.”

And for a brief, wild moment, 景琰 is seized by the desire to say yes, to say yes to this idyllic dream that 小殊 is offering him, to take his hand and rove the unending dreamspace of Limbo with him, creating the long roads they’d walk and miraculous sights they’d see and—

But the danger slams him back into place: the danger of forgetting that this was a dream, forgetting about 赤焰之案， about these twelve long years, about 昭雪. About 列战英 and 蔺晨 and 霓凰, all waiting for them outside the dream. This risk was too great, the stakes too high.

“We can’t,” 景琰 says simply, and he doesn’t even have to explain why, but 小殊 knows, he sees it in the way his shoulders slump slightly and in the helpless smile on his face when he finally turns around. They both know—they’ve always known—that they’re trapped in the workings of a picture larger than they are, of circles within circles within circles, of dreams within dreams within dreams.

\--

They walk into the endless waves together, holding hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 萧景琰 - Xiao Jingyan  
> 梅长苏 - Mei Changsu. Alias 苏先生  
> 林殊 - Lin Shu， also known by the fond diminutive '小殊'  
> 蔺晨 - Lin Chen. Also known as 蔺公子  
> 列战英 - Lie Zhanying  
> 霓凰 - Nihuang. I forgot to mention, she's the chemist/jack-of-all-trades/secretly better than all of them at their jobs
> 
> 金陵 - Jinling, the capital city of 梁/Liang  
> 天牢 - the big scary prison in the show. No, not the Xuanjing Bureau. The one that's actually legal.  
> 大理寺 - that other legal prison place that they actually broke 卫峥 out of  
> 靖王府 - Prince Jing's mansion/official place of residence/miniature palace thing  
> 宅子 - a manor, large house. Here refers to 苏宅/Su Manor, Su Residence, whatever the translation is  
> 园子 - courtyard, yard  
> 夏江 - Xia Jiang, aka shrimp sauce  
> 祁王兄 - Prince Qi, aka 萧景禹/Xiao Jingyu. Here rendered specifically to refer to him as 'brother'  
> 我素来鲁莽，考虑不了那么多 - one of my favorite lines in the show: "I've always been reckless. Can't think that far ahead."  
> 天下 - this... is... so hard to translate... Zhang Yimou notoriously did it wrong... I'm going to go with "all under Heaven." Generally refers to the world, or to a monarch's kingdom, a land, etc.  
> “对不起，失礼了，殿下.” - "Apologies for my lack of manners, Your Highness."  
> 没事 - the equivalent of "it's nothing" or "don't worry about it"  
> 门槛 - go ahead and think about this as 'door frame'  
> 小吃摊儿 - food stalls!  
> 赤焰之案 - the Chiyan Case (i.e. the actual legal court case)  
> 昭雪 - uh... exoneration？
> 
> A thousand brownie points to you if you know what the last sentence is a reference to.

**Author's Note:**

> 蔺晨 - Lin Chen. Also known as 少阁主  
> 列战英 - Lie Zhanying  
> 萧景琰 - Xiao Jingyan  
> 梅长苏 - Mei Changsu  
> 林殊 - Lin Shu  
> 小新 - Xiao Xin (the maidservant/attendant of Consort Jing who was Xia Jiang's plant all along)
> 
> 靖王府 - Prince Jing's mansion/official place of residence/miniature palace thing  
> 琅琊阁 - Langya Hall
> 
> 宁折不弯 - literally, "would rather break before bending." Used many, many times in the show to describe Xiao Jingyan's iron will  
> 文雅书生 - literally, "literary, elegant scholar." Used many, many times in the book to describe Mei Changsu  
> 小没良心 - Lin Chen's favorite insulting term of endearment for every character ever. Literally translates to "you heartless little -"  
> 武术 - wushu, or martial arts  
> 轻功 - qinggong, alternately translated as "the art of lightness" or "the art of applying lightness" (Stephen Teo). That thing martial artists do when they start flying around at will  
> 黑火 - literally, "black fire." Refers to illegally imported gunpowder


End file.
